Sundered
by bamftastik
Summary: Just before the battle for Kirkwall, Anders visited Isabela with a secret. He charged her with getting Hawke out of the city, but no one can hold the Champion for long. Years later, Hawke hunts him across the world, leaving their son in Isabela's care.
1. Chapter 1

"Hawke." Isabela could not keep the sway from her steps as she made her way across the deck, made no attempt to hide the smirk tugging at her lips.

Hawke's back was to her, her shoulders hunched and heaving as she rested her elbows upon the port side rail. The bloody Champion of Kirkwall, tossing her breakfast into the deeps like a white-faced cabin boy.

"Isabela." She wiped a hand across her mouth.

Folding her arms, Isabela leaned against the rail beside her. Hawke made no move to rise. Instead she sagged, sinking to her knees with a heavy sigh.

"Get up. You're embarrassing yourself. And me."

She chuckled, taking the offered arm to let Isabela haul her to her feet. "I've never been one for ships."

"Apparently not. I can't imagine how you survived the journey to Kirkwall."

"Shock, I suppose." Hawke moved to a low pair of crates, resting elbows on her knees as she stared out across the waves. It would not help the nausea, but the woman had never been one to turn away from anything. That was the problem. "Maybe I _was_ sick. It was years ago. I can't remember."

Isabela took the crate across from her, nodding back in the direction of her gaze. "I do not know what you're expecting. He's not about to come soaring across the waves."

"Like a knight in shining dinghy?"

"_Anders_ is not much of a knight in anything."

Hawke did not take her eyes from the water as her chin fell into her hands. "No. That would be you, wouldn't it?"

"Hardly."

"Then put me ashore."

Isabela snorted. Another day, another argument. "I cannot."

"And why is that exactly?" That gaze was fixed on her now. "For the same reason that you hit me over the head? Tied me up?"

"Would you have come otherwise?" She smiled. "You are on my ship now, Hawke. We will go ashore when I say we go ashore."

With a sigh, Hawke pushed to her feet, striding again to the rail. The breeze stirred her cloak, one hand idly tugging it closed. She looked down with a smirk. "Thank you for the clothes, by the way. But you're certain you couldn't come up with something less... revealing?"

"Oh, they will do for now." She laughed. "But come into my cabin. It will help."

"We need to go back."

Isabela rolled her eyes with an exaggerated sigh. "I am sure Anders will be fine."

"But I won't." She whirled, staring down at her hands. "I needed to speak with him, Isabela. We were to flee _together_."

"Plans change."

"Plans?" She barked a bitter laugh. "And whose plans were those? I stood _beside_ him. Even after what he'd done, even though I knew that all of those people would... But that's not why I was there. I didn't even care that he didn't share my reasons. This is what he'd wanted all along, the only thing. It was vengeance. Nothing more."

"Hawke..."

"There wasn't supposed to be a future, Isabela. But I needed to at least _speak_ with him."

She met the other woman's gaze, shaking her head after a long and silent moment. "If you think he did not do this for you, you are wrong."

"It had nothing to do with me. He made that abundantly clear."

"Not Kirkwall. _This_." She let her hand take in the deck. "He did this for you, Hawke. It was _Anders _that bid me take you."

"What?" Hawke took a step forward, but she staggered, turning to throw herself again against the rail. As she heaved, Isabela moved slowly to crouch beside her. Wrinkling her nose, she ran a soothing hand across the Champion's back.

"Not a day before we answered the Enchanter's summons. He visited me in the Hanged Man..."

* * *

The worse the streets, the fatter the barman's purse, they said. Kirkwall may be quiet as a tomb, but the Hanged Man saw no slowing of trade, even at this hour. Varric had already retired, gone to snuggle his bow - or whatever the boys were calling it these days. Isabela, though, had found herself unable to sleep. Those same men who spoke of streets and purses would call it a sign of a heavy heart, or a guilty one. But she had never had much problem with guilt.

Glancing up, she spotted a familiar figure slipping through the door. Speaking of guilty hearts...

"Anders!" Leaning over the bar, she snatched up a second mug and made for the nearest table.

He hesitated before taking the seat across from her, his eyes darting furtively around the room.

"And where is Hawke?"

"Sleeping." Still he would not meet her gaze, turning his face away with a wistful sigh. "Soundly."

"Well, we can't all be so lucky. But if you are here to seduce me, you should know that—?"

"_Seduce you?_"

"You look like a man who's headed to the gallows - literally, I suppose." Resting a knee on the bench beside her, Isabela trailed a finger along the rim of her mug. "The Hanged Man has seen its share of dirty deals. And you've never had much of a face for bluffing. So what is it to be, then?"

Anders did not reply.

"It's the coat, isn't it? Very dark, very brooding." She leaned across the table, flicking a bit of lint from the feathers. "But ever since you've started wearing it, you've been less fun than usual. And even worse at cards. What did you do?"

"It... it does not matter now. Or... not yet."

"Oh, obviously. But if you didn't tell Hawke, I did not truly think you'd tell me. It's driving her mad, you know."

His eyes flickered guiltily as he raised his head. "It is?"

"Why, just last night we shared a pint or two... or four. The way she complains about you..."

Anders sighed.

Grinning now, Isabela shook her head. "Lucky for you, she's smitten. She's mad for you; you're mad for her. It's all so pathetically adorable."

"So you... don't think I should tell her?"

"Your secrets are your business." She took a long pull from her mug.

"Good... that's good. Because I need your help, Isabela."

Setting the drink aside, she studied him. "Why not ask Hawke?"

He smirked.

"Right. Off the books, then."

Anders looked to his hands, laying them on the table between them. "I... I need you to leave. To take her away from here."

Isabela burst into laughter, rocking back on the bench as Anders cast a panicked glance at the other patrons. After a moment, she shook her head. "I can assure you, that's not going to happen."

"Not now. When... whatever's coming... when it's over. No matter what. Promise me that you'll get Hawke away from here."

"And what is coming, exactly?"

He did not rise to the bait. "And if I survive... you cannot follow me, she cannot. No matter what."

"_If_ you survive? Is that why you've been moping about?" Her voice rose to a mocking pitch. "'Oh, I'm doomed. You're better off without me.'"

"This is _serious_, Isabela. If I survive, I'll be hunted."

"And you're not already? I would wager Hawke understands the risks."

He slammed his palms on the table. Isabela flinched instinctively away, but she recovered quickly, leaning forward with a scowl.

"She doesn't understand them. Not yet."

"And you do?"

"I..." He seemed to sink back in on himself, chewing at his lip with a dazed and wondering shake of his head. "I was a healer, once."

"What does that have to do with any—?"

"I can sense things still." He raised his eyes to hers, all trace of bitterness or jests forgotten. All that remained was fear, real and desperate. "I can't make her leave, not before this is finished. She would never allow it. But afterwards... promise me Isabela. Promise me that you will take her as far from here – as far from me – as you can. No matter what."

Isabela folded her arms. "Let's say for the sake of argument, that I do this. How exactly am I supposed to take on the Champion of Kirkwall if she decides she doesn't want to come?"

"You're a resourceful woman. Just... don't hurt her."

"You do realize that I have a problem with this. That I've half a mind to march over there right now and tell her you think you know what's best for—"

"I do. For the moment." He sighed. "I just... I just hope that this is over before she understands. But she will one day."

"Today I'm the one that you need to convince."

"You're really going to make me say it, aren't you?"

"I like to know what I'm dealing with, yes. And if you expect me to drag a very _angry _Champion off to my hold..."

He snorted, finally picking up his mug and draining it in one long pull. Setting it back down, he straightened, meeting her gaze with that same strange desperation. "I've made my choice, had made it before I knew... I don't know if it would have changed anything and I can't think about what that means. But I always knew that I was doing this for the future, to create a place where mages would be free… where they could live, could grow up without fear of persecution. They never had names, had faces; it was always just the greater good. I suppose you could call it ironic, then. But I'll be hunted for what I've done. It will never stop. That's why I need _you_ to protect that future."

"_Hawke _is the future? But she's not even a mage. She's just— Oh, sod."

Anders drummed his fingers on the table as they stared into their empty mugs. "So… how big a fool am I?"

"You...?"

"I've rarely seen you speechless, Isabela."

She raised her head. "You... you're sure? I mean absolutely—?"

"I'm still a healer, much as I've been focusing on... other things. I can sense the spark, small though it still is. I don't believe she yet knows herself."

"She will. And if you're not there..."

"If I _am_ there, we will never stop being in danger. I can't do that, not... not to them."

"She'll kill us both. You realize this, don't you?"

He smirked. "So that means you'll do it, then?"

She folded her arms.

"You love her, Isabela. She's like a sister to you. You don't have to like it, but I know you understand."

After a long moment, she sighed. "This... thing you say you've done. Is it really all that bad? There's no guarantee that this won't just... turn out all right?"

"When do things ever turn out _all right_?" Anders pushed to his feet but still he leaned his hands on the table, as though the weight of standing were too much to bear. Moving round, he bent to lay a kiss on her forehead. "Thank you, Isabela. For protecting her, for protecting our child."

* * *

Hawke sank to the deck, leaning her back against the rail as she curled her knees to her chest. It was the only move that she had made since Isabela began her tale, her features unchanging, unflinching throughout. The anger seemed to leave her now... replaced by something like relief.

Crouching beside her, Isabela lay a hand on her arm. "You cannot tell me that you didn't know? It may take magic for a man, but a woman can always sense—"

"I knew. After the battle. But maybe I just didn't want to." She sighed, resting her chin on her arms. "I didn't know that he asked you to do this, though."

"What? You thought I arranged a daring rescue out of the kindness of my heart?"

Hawke chuckled, unconvinced. "I'm not going to stop looking for him, you know."

"Never thought you would. But I did hope to stall you for a bit." Coming to her feet, she again offered Hawke an arm.

"No more stalling."

"Right." Glancing down, Isabela smirked. "Maybe you're right about the clothes, though. Let's see if we can't find you something with a bit more room."


	2. Chapter 2

It was the worst of the summer storms. These northern routes were dangerous enough, the presence of the Qunari fleet strong this close to Seheron. Yet even they dared not stray beyond their bays when the season reached its peak. Black waters and red skies could become squalls and hurricanes without warning, sending the long days crashing into endless dark. Dangerous in the best of times, the passage became all the more profitable for those mad enough to brave it.

Isabela would have welcomed the storm. She stood at the starboard rail, rubbing at her arms as she hugged herself. But she was not cold – no, the air was perfectly tepid, blowing straight and sure. Too sure. Around them the clouds roiled and the lightning crashed, held at bay in a calm oasis around the ship. Stretching out a hand, she let her fingers play over those unnatural currents, her eyes straying to the tiny figure perched in the prow. Surin, he was called. It meant "sundered" in one of the old Ferelden tongues, Hawke had said, from a time when the land was little more than warring and savage tribes. The name was all that she had left him, that and a few short months of nursing, before setting off after his father again.

The boy did not notice her gaze, curling his fingers to stir the winds. Not yet in his seventh year and he already knew the ways of sea and storm better than half of the old, weathered bastards in her crew. But this bastard had the means to bend them to his will. Isabela cared not one whit for the revolution that seemed to have spread to every shore, but any observant port guard could turn the lot of them over to the Chantry for harboring one, small mage-child. And yet...

Lightning crashed just out of reach, safe beyond the barrier of air. There were benefits and there were risks. She was no stranger to this dance. Watching the boy, Isabela found herself smiling.

"He shows a... surprising degree of control."

She turned at the voice, smirking to see Fenris slipping from her cabin. She had picked the elf up in Kont-arr, a surprise and a decidedly pleasant one.

"From you, that's practically a compliment."

He snorted, but the glower softened as he moved to her side and gripped the rail. His eyes narrowed, watching the arrow-straight current churning the waters below. "I do not like it."

"But we're making brilliant time."

"To where, I wonder?"

She smirked. "How was Varania?"

Fenris winced at that, as she had expected he would. He had admitted to convincing his sister to flee the Imperium some years ago, citing the newfound freedom being won by mages in other lands. There was no excuse he could make for this convenient change of heart, for his continued contact with a sister who happened to be one of the dreaded magic users. It had already provided Isabela with endless opportunities to tease him.

"Regretting that she did not become a Magister. Though less now than before, I expect." He sighed. "She is with child again."

"That husband of hers." Isabela clucked her tongue. "And how are the girls?"

"They were... pleased to see their... Uncle Fenris." His tone was mystified.

"Not 'Uncle Leto?'"

He growled beneath his breath. "No."

"Funny thing, you being an uncle."

"No more so than you an aunt." He nodded toward the prow and Isabela's gaze could not help but follow.

"He's merely another member of my crew, and a useful one at that."

"You are a poor liar."

She sighed. It had been over a year since Hawke had last been aboard, and then only long enough to be ferried to the latest uprising. Surin had been a boy in truth for that too-short week, but once she disembarked he had returned to his silence and his scowls. He had seemed disconcertingly older than his years from nearly the moment he could speak, able to veer from a child's laughter to an old man's stares in a matter of moments. She was seeing more of his father in him every day.

Isabela studied him now, his back to them as he waved his tiny fingers almost offhandedly. His skin was a shade darker than either of his parents', already tanned by years at sea. But his cheeks still had a tendency to blaze mottled, the easy blush and naturally fair complexion of his mother. It nearly matched the red tint to his golden hair, a gift of the long-missing Anders, shining all the more from long days spent in the sun. He wore it long now, the familiar brow and angular chin all the more apparent when tied back.

If the whispers of the mages were true, this was the child of two heroes. Isabela was discovering that there were few fates to be envied less.

She had asked him about those patterns, the waving dance of his hands. He had made them up, he claimed, spells of his own making learned simply by long hours watching the sea. One of the men had been secretly sneaking him books on magic, she later leaned, purchasing them whenever they docked. When she had confronted him, though, he merely said that a trained mage – even poorly – was safer than a wild one. She had not even had the chance to retort; he had quit the crew out of fear then and there.

Something would have to be done, she knew. The boy was six years old; in any land he might well have been taken to the Circle by now. Against his will and to his detriment, if his father was to be believed.

Again, she sighed.

"I was not speaking entirely of the boy."

Isabela shook herself, looking back at Fenris. He produced something from behind his back, dropping it into her hands with a smirk. It was a copy of the Chant of Light, her copy.

"You have heard from Hawke."

"What? No I haven't."

Chuckling, he turned the pages in her hand, opening to the hollow at the middle. She had carved it there with her own blade, destroying what she was certain was some lovely and dreadfully boring prose to fashion a tiny hiding spot.

"I thought it odd that you would have such a book."

"And what were you doing looking at it?" She quirked a brow as he flushed and fell silent. It had been many years since she overheard him speaking with Sebastian, but the thought of Fenris kneeling in a Chantry still brought a bemused smile to her lips. She was sure the Chant would have a thing or two to say about what they had done last night.

The folded note was still inside the hollow, though she need not read it to recall the words. The message had been simple enough: _Denerim. The first of autumn._

"Denerim."

"This was waiting when last I docked in Antiva."

"What was she doing there, I wonder?"

Isabela shrugged. "There was a slave uprising a few months back, maybe she figured Anders had something to do with it. Or maybe she simply had a craving for chowder."

"I hope you are speaking of the soup."

Linking an arm through his, she laughed. "But, yes, we're going to Denerim." Her smile faltered as she looked again to Surin. She needed to speak to Hawke for reasons of her own and most of them would not be pleasant. "It seems I'm everyone's ferry these days."

Fenris smirked. "I have paid my passage."

Isabela cast a last lingering glance at the boy, at the few crewman working the deck. She had no doubt that Surin would see them safely through, tried not to let herself be unsettled by the thought.

She tsked. "Not in full." Tightening her grip on his arm, she hauled the elf back to her cabin.


	3. Chapter 3

She could remember a time when she found the Denerim approach oppressive. The city sat a short distance from the sea, its cramped docks clustered at the innermost point of a narrow bay. Hills rose to either side, throwing their reflections down upon waters that had always seemed much to shallow for her liking. It was just deep enough, they said, but the crossing was always a nervous one for ships with a deep keel.

That was before Kirkwall, of course. Isabela could still remember sailing from that place, its walls and gallows putting these pitiable hillocks to shame. But _from_ was the important part, wasn't it? Hawke had won her a ship and they had left that place together, only one of them looking back. Isabela was almost glad she had never had to sail _into_ the city.

Her sigh held a twinge of relief when the steersman finally angled them toward an empty pier. There were more of those than there should have been.

"I am surprised. You have learned something of punctuality." Fenris joined her at the rail, his eyes slipping sideways to watch Surin perched upon the prow. How long the boy had been there, Isabela could not guess; he had already been holding his vigil when she emerged from her cabin.

"You're talking about that thing with the Qunari again, aren't you? Why can't everyone just let that go?" She rolled her eyes with feigned exasperation, but the elf had a point. It was the first of autumn. They had reached the city as she had known they would.

"Denerim is a large place."

She nodded absently, watching as two of the men leapt over the side to tie them off.

"And you know where Hawke will be?"

"Not a clue."

"Then how—?"

"Captain Isabela of _The Maiden's Froth_?" Peering over the rail, she saw a contingent of half a dozen guardsmen waiting on the pier. The speaker's face was shadowed by his helm, but she could hear him flush as he stumbled over the name.

"Vulgar name," Fenris muttered behind her.

"Castillon named it. It's bad luck to change the name of a ship." Calling down to the guardsman, she grinned. "What have I done now?"

"You're to come with us."

"Just like that?" She caught sight of Surin slipping closer and moved her body to shield him from view. "And what of my ship?"

"Your ship may dock. Your men may go where they will."

"And yours?"

Another spoke now, his voice sounding almost amused. "We will not board without your permission, _Captain_."

"Damn right you won't." She gestured and one of her men tossed down a line. Putting her back to the guardsmen, she looked to Fenris. "Take him to the Pearl. Ask for Sanda. I'll meet you there."

His brows drew low as he looked to the boy. "And if you don't?"

Surin stood between them, not looking up, not making any attempt to sneak a glance at the crowd below. But Isabela had no doubt that he understood every word.

Swinging a leg over the rail, she took the line between her hands and shrugged. "I will... eventually. What's the worst that could happen?" With that, she leapt over the side.

She'd never been one for goodbyes, but there was no time to think on it now. Sliding down the line, she landed in an easy crouch and straightened to brush a strand of hair from her eyes. "So. You're still not going to tell me what I've done? Or what you _think_ I've done?"

"Something, I'm sure." One of the guards moved behind her, slipping the blades from her back and tucking them behind his belt. Isabela did not stop him, but he made no move to search her further. She was either very lucky, or he was very stupid.

"Ooh, you're cute. Or you might be if you took off that hideous helm."

He looked down at her from behind a mask of shadow as the others formed up around them, herding her toward the city. As they crossed beneath the walls, Isabela breathed deep. It was not the same as the sea, but port had a current and a scent all its own.

She looked again to the guardsman at her side. "I don't suppose we could make one, _tiny_ stop first? Before we get to... wherever we are going."

He sighed exasperated. "You are a prisoner, _Captain_. At least have the decency to act like one."

Isabela gaped. She recognized that voice. Tilting her head, she attempted to peer beneath the shadows of the man's helmet. "Donnic?"

"You mistake me, _serah_." He emphasized the word, so out of place here in Ferelden. "I am Guardsman Donnal."

"Donnal."

He nodded, keeping his eyes on the street ahead, but the tightening grip on her arm cautioned silence.

She guessed their destination soon enough. The broken stones beneath their feet gave way to tended streets, the stench almost fading with the disappearing hovels. Isabela slowed them as best she could, keeping an almost leisurely pace beneath the wondering stares of passersby. Let them look. For once, she had done nothing wrong. Well, almost nothing.

They stopped before the palace doors and Donni— Donnal pulled her to the head of the starirs, handing her over to a waiting guard with a slow bow. "Guardswoman Avella."

"Thank you, Donnal."

Isabela's gasp was audible, but the shorter guard took her forcibly by the elbow, steering her away from the others as they made their way into the palace.

"Avella? Just steal half my name, why don't you?"

"Shut up." But there was a smile peeking from beneath that awful helm. "It is... good to see you again."

Isabela snorted. "Oh, I doubt that. But what are you and Donnic _doing here_?"

Aveline glanced behind them, making sure that none of the others had followed. "We couldn't exactly remain in Kirkwall after siding with Hawke, could we? But King Alistair has been... sympathetic. I'm not in command, of course. That's impossible now. But it's a good job. A good life."

"Not happy unless you're all law-and-order, right?"

She chuckled. "Something like that."

They passed a great pair of gilded doors, pausing a moment as Isabela tilted her head to look up at them. She had been in palaces before, but never this one. Of all the hovels in a city, the pretty ones were always the most dishonest. But they continued on, past any of the places where visitors might be entertained, moving instead to a side hallway and what she guessed were the king's more private chambers. When at last they stopped, it was before another door – still ornate, but crafted of simple wood.

"I don't suppose _you're_ going to tell me what I'm doing here?"

"If you haven't figured that out yet, you're really more stupid than I gave you credit for."

"You gave me credit?"

Pushing aside the door, Aveline sniffed. "Not much."

When she made no move to venture further, Isabela stepped past, letting her eyes roam over the domed ceiling, the bookshelves ringing the walls, the circle of chairs at the library's center. One of those faced the door, its occupant rising as she entered. He had aged, of course, but the sudden uncertainty that flashed behind his eyes was the same as she remembered.

Isabela laughed. "Couldn't get enough of me, could you?"

"I— what?"

"It explains so much. The clandestine meeting, the guards— Nice touch, by the way, if that's how you want it. Shall I still pretend I'm your prisoner?"

Alistair, King of Ferelden and Lord of all the land, was flushing from his hair to his toes. "I... no! We're not... here for that. Or to talk about that. _Ever_ again."

She shrugged, pouting in disappointment as she strolled into the room. But she stopped then. The chair facing Alistair's was also occupied, a lazy boot dandling over the arm. Isabela could not see the woman, but she didn't need to.

"Hi, 'Bela." Rising slowly, she stepped around the chair and smiled.

"Hawke."


End file.
